


Room One

by thingswithwings



Series: The Room(s) Where It Happened [15]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, Post 5x03 The Plant, Roleplay, Sex Motel Series, Sherwood Motel, sort of virginity kink?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: “So, can we christen your new apartment yet?” David asks, leaning over the counter, smiling into a kiss. Patrick draws back, shaking his head sadly.“No. I don’t take possession till tomorrow. But we can go to the Sherwood.”David tilts his head. “What, like . . . for the last time?”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: The Room(s) Where It Happened [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644181
Comments: 38
Kudos: 393





	Room One

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series exploring the idea that the Sherwood Motel — the motel that Johnny and Roland buy in season six — is the motel David and Patrick were using to _connect_ before Patrick got his own apartment.
> 
> This takes place after episode 5x03, "The Plant," after Patrick gets his new apartment. It is the last fic in the series from David and/or Patrick's point of view. Thanks to everyone who participated in this relay race, it was SO MUCH FUN!

“So, can we christen your new apartment yet?” David asks, leaning over the counter, smiling into a kiss. Patrick draws back, shaking his head sadly.

“No. I don’t take possession till tomorrow. But we can go to the Sherwood.”

David tilts his head. “What, like . . . for the last time?”

Patrick hadn’t thought about it like that. They’ve spent so many nights at that weird little motel that Patrick’s lost count. It’s odd to think this might be their last visit.

“I guess so. Unless you just enjoy spending money to rent a thin-walled motel room twenty minutes from town.”

“I do not, particularly,” David says. "But tonight, I'm willing."

“The Sherwood it is, then.”

*

“Hey, Mr V. I’ve got room one for you today.” Benny hands over the key as Patrick hands over his credit card, all of it old habit by now. They pass the paperwork back and forth efficiently, Benny still X-ing where Patrick has to sign, even though Patrick could probably sign these forms accurately in the dark.

“Thanks, Benny,” Patrick says. Benny’s kind, welcoming smile makes him hesitate. “You know, I―uh, I’m moving. New apartment. Better living conditions. So we might not find ourselves with the need for a place to spend the night, quite so often.” 

“Oh, no kidding! Well, we’re sorry to lose your business, but congratulations.”

“Thanks. Um.” Patrick’s not sure why he’s still talking, why he even told Benny that stuff, but he feels compelled to go on. “I guess, just, thank you for all your good service, over the years.”

“Hey, my pleasure,” Benny says. He reaches out his hand, and Patrick shakes it, gripping warmly. “And you know, if you’re ever bored in the winters, you and your young man should come check out the curling club here. We could always use more young people getting involved.”

Patrick smiles. He could use something to keep him active in the winters, after baseball ends. He can’t imagine David taking part, but maybe he’d sit behind the hack in a monochrome scarf and cheer him on, if bribed with whisky and hot chocolate. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “I like curling.”

Benny tells him a little more about the curling club, about the folks he plays with, and Patrick listens, strangely nostalgic all of a sudden, not wanting to leave the office.

“And of course, if you stayed late for a bonspiel or something, I’d be happy to put you up and save you the drive. Free of charge.”

“That’s really kind,” Patrick says.

He finds the idea of an excuse to come back here . . . almost appealing.

*

Patrick is inside the office a long time, and when he finally comes out, he has a strange, soft look on his face.

“That took a while,” David remarks. He’s already got his bag over his shoulder and Patrick’s bag in his hand. Patrick takes it from him, always a gentleman.

“Chatting with the guy at the desk. Benny. He’s a good guy.”

Patrick mostly thinks that everyone is a good guy, so this isn’t a remarkable opinion, but David’s a little suspicious of the timing.

“You’re gonna miss this place, aren’t you?” David says, smiling at him. Patrick locks the car and walks around to meet him, shrugging. David touches his shoulder, gently.

“I don’t know, David, we did a lot here.” At David’s smirk, he rolls his eyes. “I mean, yeah, that, obviously a lot of that, but also just a lot of . . . our relationship, I guess, happened here.”

“Yeah. I get it,” David says, softly. 

“Um. We’re in room one.”

They walk the short distance to their room, and Patrick opens the door. The room inside looks like most of the other rooms: tackily vintage but clean, a paradise compared to the Rosebud but nothing to love. There are two queen beds, this time, when usually Patrick gets them a single. David feels a little wave of sadness well up inside him, a fondness for this place not at all befitting its lack of amenities, its scratchy linens and its ancient furniture. Maybe he understands how Patrick is feeling.

Turning to Patrick, David sees him stopped just inside the door, peering at the two beds.

“Have we had this one before? Room one?”

“No,” David says, putting his bag down.

“No, we have. This is the one with the squeaky bed.”

“Mmm, no, that’s room twenty. Remember? We fucked on the floor because you were so hot for it after all that New Year’s madness, and it was wildly uncomfortable, and we said we wouldn’t get that one again.”

Patrick nods, wincing. “So―okay, wait, then is this the room with the weird ceiling stain?”

“That’s room twenty-three.”

“The one with really bad water pressure? Where we tried to have shower sex but it was too clammy?”

“Room fourteen,” David sighs, wrapping him up in a kiss to shut him up. “I kept notes. We’ve never been in room one before.”

“You kept notes?” Patrick asks, stung. “And you didn’t show me?”

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you with stimulation, honey.”

“Weird we never got this room before, though. We’ve had most of them more than once.”

David grimaces in performative dismay. “I guess we have spent a lot of time at this motel.”

“My new bed’s being delivered to the apartment tomorrow. And the rest of the furniture. So it really is the last time we’ll need to come back here, barring emergencies.”

David kisses his neck. “What kinds of sex emergencies are you envisioning?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick smiles. “Most of the times we came here, it felt like a sex emergency. I wanted you so bad.”

“You _wanted_ me?” David repeats, with feeling. “And now, what, you _tolerate_ having sex with me?”

“You’re very often very tolerable,” Patrick nods, because he’s a provocateur. David is provoked. 

“Well, you are _welcome_ to tolerate me from the other bed, if that’s your attitude, and we can exchange a firm goodnight handshake before retiring separately.”

“First of all,” Patrick replies, laughing, “I would put money on which of us would hold out longer in that situation, and I would put it on me.”

“Would you?” David asks, with a raised eyebrow, because he remembers all the times he’s gotten Patrick to beg on sheets just like this, surrounded by this exact wallpaper. Remembers that he was the first one to ever get Patrick to beg during sex, in fact. He lowers his voice to its huskiest register. “Because, if you’ll recall, the last time we got two beds, last Valentine’s Day, I wasn’t the one who lost control first.” He plucks at the shoulder seams of Patrick’s shirt innocently.

This does seem to stop Patrick in his tracks momentarily, the tips of his ears going red and his eyes unfocusing. David doesn’t blame him: it was wildly hot, that time, with each of them on separate beds, naked, facing one another, fucking themselves with toys (Josephine and Salvador, respectively) and talking one another off with four feet of space between them. Patrick was the one who got up and closed the gap. David can be a provocateur too.

Patrick shakes it off. “Second of all,” he continues, as if David hasn’t just made a _very_ persuasive argument, “you wouldn’t banish me to another bed.” He kisses David’s lips. “You like me too much.”

“I tolerate you,” David replies, kissing him back, little feather-light half-laughing half-apology kisses. “I probably liked you better when we first started coming here, when you were so easily impressed, all that _oh David no one’s ever put their tongue in my ass before_ and _oh David I never heard of lube before I met you_ and _oh David please please fuck me, I want it, I can take it―_” he trails off as Patrick’s hands tighten on his biceps. “What?”

“Um,” Patrick says, and then takes a ragged breath. “Will you―can we―I had an idea.” 

“Okay,” David whispers, intrigued. 

Patrick walks backward, tugging David along with him, and sits down on the bed to look up at him, eyes wide. “Oh,” he moans, low and quiet and desperate, “David. This is all so new.”

It takes David a blinking moment to process what Patrick’s doing, what he’s asking for. They’ve done roleplay before, just little scenarios that are fun to dirty-talk their way through, nothing elaborate, but this is a whole different thing. Roleplaying themselves. God.

His skin feels hot. He licks his lips. It’s such a fucking sexy idea; David’s almost annoyed he didn’t come up with it. He steps forward and kneels between Patrick’s legs.

“Yeah? You nervous, honey?” David doesn’t think he called Patrick _honey_ back then, but it’s part of their vocabulary now, and he can’t change that, wouldn’t want to.

“Yeah. And just―I want so much. There are so many things I want. It’s overwhelming.”

Patrick’s voice shakes, a little, like it used to. David strokes a hand through his short hair, coming down to cup his jaw. Patrick pushes into it. That’s a newer part of their vocabulary too, Patrick leaning easily in to touch; he had to learn that.

“I’m gonna be so good to you,” David says. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise.” His mind is rushing, trying to remember the actual things he said to Patrick back in those early days. He thinks there were a lot of awkward explanations and he remembers feeling less than smooth, never sure if a given act would be familiar or new, anticipated or not. It wasn’t always easy, back then, and David remembers a fair amount of anxiety sprinkled in with the joy of getting to know Patrick physically and emotionally.

Among other things, it was his first ever time falling in love. So. That made it harder. He remembers being nervous, too.

He runs his hands up Patrick’s thighs, steady and confident. 

“I really don’t know what I’m doing, David,” Patrick says, with a self-deprecating laugh, but his eyes are fucking _twinkling_ with joy. God, David loves him. “I need you to _show_ me.” 

David doesn’t think that his stubborn, addicted-to-knowing-everything boyfriend ever said anything like that the first time around. He quirks a smile. 

“I’m gonna show you, Patrick. I’m gonna teach you everything we can do together.”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes, as he bends his head to take David’s mouth with his own. “Teach me. Show me.” His kisses are hot and wet, dragging against David’s lips. 

“Scoot back,” David says, coming up from his knees and taking off his sweater. Patrick does, unbuttoning his shirt as he lays back fully on the bed. David leans down over him, just in his t-shirt now, and kisses at the revealed notch of his throat. “What do you like?” 

He does have a vague memory of asking Patrick that, either here or that first night at Stevie’s, and he’s sure he remembers Patrick’s answer, between desperate kisses: _Anything is good, come here, anything_. 

Now, Patrick answers differently, swallowing, meeting David’s eyes, and parting his soft lips to say, “I don’t know. I never really . . . found out. Before. I never knew.”

David feels that in his chest, constriction like a fist squeezing his sternum, and he has to bend and kiss him, his mouth, the sides of his face, his temple. “You’re gonna find out,” David promises him. “We’ll do it together.”

“I want that. David.” Patrick’s eyes are a little shinier than they should be, maybe, but he’s smiling, too, here on the other side of that journey, living proof that they came through it together. “I want you so much. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. You make me just . . . lose it. I want to do so many things to you.” 

David thinks that’s true, remembering how desperate and pushy and raw Patrick was back then, how embarrassed he got at the store, how little time he wasted whenever there was a closed door between them and the world. That time Patrick jerked himself off in the car on the _frontage road_ because he couldn’t wait to get inside the motel room. But he’s never heard him say it like that before.

David takes his time exploring Patrick’s chest and belly, both of them wriggling out of their clothes piece by piece until they’re bare against each other, pressed together from ankle to shoulder, hot where their bodies are touching. But the truth is that he knows what Patrick likes, has known for a long time now, so he bites Patrick’s nipples, hard, the way he wouldn’t have back then, and he lavishes attention on Patrick’s ears, and he grips Patrick’s ass and lifts him a little, letting his fingers dip between his cheeks in promise.

“You can do whatever you want,” David breathes. “What do you want most, Patrick? What have you been dying to do to me?”

Patrick rolls him over, puts him on his back, and then moves down the bed to take David’s hardening cock in hand. “This. My mouth has been watering for you. I want to learn how to suck your dick.”

“Holy fuck,” David exclaims. 

“Let me?”

“Yeah, Patrick, yeah, suck me, I bet you’ll like it, I bet you’ll fucking―love it―”

Patrick sucks him down expertly, mouth wet and hot and tight. He sucks when David wants it and twists where David needs it and knows him so well, so well.

David remembers the first blowjob Patrick ever gave him, and it wasn’t the first night they were together, or the second, or even the third. It’s powerful to look back on that time and think about Patrick wanting to, so badly, and holding himself back. Patrick was pretty assertive about bottoming, David remembers, and about a bunch of other things, too, but this particular act evidently took him longer to build up to.

It’s a uniquely vulnerable thing to crave, David thinks. 

Patrick looks up at him, mouth pink and full, and he’s as beautiful as David’s ever seen him; he knows now, how much he loves this, and he’s happy to say so.

“Fuck,” David says again, petting his head. “You’re so pretty when you suck cock. You’re sucking me so good, honey, you’re making me feel so good. I knew you’d be good at this. Just watching you do this is making me so fucking hot.”

Patrick’s eyes flutter shut and he groans around David’s dick. David keeps petting him, the sides of his face, his sensitive little ears, the line of his jaw, his bare collarbones, as much of Patrick as he can reach, all the soft little touches that he likes best when he’s doing this. All the soft little touches, David knows, that make him feel loved.

After a while David starts to feel the building wave of pleasure overtaking him, and he grips Patrick’s shoulder with more urgency. “You’re such a good cocksucker, Patrick, oh, you’re so good at it, so good at doing this for me, oh, oh―”

Patrick goes a little faster, a little harder; David gasps and his hips shudder forward. “I’m gonna come if you don’t, don’t stop, honey, Patrick, god, do you want me to, to come in your mouth?”

At that, Patrick’s rhythm slows, and David throws his head back on the bed, breathing hard and trying to get himself together again while Patrick pulls off gently. 

“Thank you for letting me do that, David,” Patrick says, voice a little hoarse. He crawls forward, and David draws him down and kisses him, surprised by all the memories flooding back into his mind. Patrick used to thank him a lot, during sex. Patrick used to get overwhelmed with it, whispering little _thank yous_ into his skin, so grateful for everything he’d never had before.

“Thank you,” David says. “Thank you for giving me that, you’re so beautiful, god, you got me so hot.”

“I love feeling you get hard inside me,” Patrick breathes, against his mouth. “It felt like a, like a revelation, the first time.”

“You love it. You love sucking me.” David kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, unable to stop. 

“Yeah.” Patrick kisses him back. Their hips are sliding together now, and it’s too dry and too light a touch, compared to the hot wet suction of Patrick’s perfect little tidy mouth, but David thrusts up sloppily anyhow, desperate for more.

“What else do you want? We can do whatever you want,” David murmurs, against Patrick’s warm, flushed skin. There were plenty of times, early on, when they came just rubbing against each other, or jacking each other off, and David supposes it would be a vintage look for them to do it that way now.

“I want―I want to do something you want. It doesn’t have to just be about me.” Patrick kisses him again, deep and slow, and David relaxes into it. “What do you want, David?”

It’s a question Patrick’s asked him hundreds of times before, but this time, in this context, it makes David remember what he wanted, in the early days of their relationship: what he fantasized about, and what was difficult for him to articulate, even to himself. It wasn’t ever anything physical. His revelations were different than Patrick’s.

He uses his hand to tilt Patrick’s head so he can kiss his forehead. Patrick closes his eyes, accepting the gesture of affection.

“Fuck me,” David says, almost a random choice. “Put your cock in my ass.” 

Patrick nods, eyes bright, and kisses him before going to grab the lube from their bag. David uses the time to throw back the duvet and wriggle in between the sheets. He contemplates grabbing a towel, but he cleaned up earlier, and they do have an extra bed for sleeping in, and Patrick’s crawling up between his legs with a light in his eyes, so David decides not to bother.

“You’re so beautiful,” Patrick says, kissing his thigh, slipping lube-slick fingers into his ass. “I love that I get to do this for you.”

“You’re gonna be so good at it,” David tells him, riding against the pressure inside, his cock full and aching, leaking against his belly.

“Oh, I’m a _really_ quick study,” Patrick replies, twisting a grin, and David lets his head fall back against the pillow, laughing, trusting Patrick with his body. With more than that. 

David remembers thinking that he had never laughed so much during sex before Patrick. Now it feels normal, right, that Patrick would make it possible for him to let go. The giggles move through him, shading to gasps as Patrick’s fingers curl up inside and start stroking his prostate expertly. Just the way David taught him.

“That’s, that’s so good, that’s just right, you got it, honey, you really are a great, great student―”

Patrick laughs, then, too, his free hand spreading over David’s thigh as he does, touching him for the sake of touching him. 

“I like learning what turns you on,” he says, warmly, stretching up to kiss David’s mouth.

“I want you to know,” David says, a truth now just as it was a truth then, but much less scary than it used to be.

“Gonna fuck you now, David,” Patrick says. “God. I can’t wait. Are you ready?”

David nods up at him, and Patrick pushes his legs forward and slides in slowly, practiced and easy, filling David up. Maybe for verisimilitude Patrick should’ve used a condom, but David’s glad he didn’t, glad for the indulgent skin-to-skin sensation of their fucking, for the reminder of what they’ve become together.

He doesn’t realize at first that his eyes have slipped closed, that he’s let out a little sigh, almost like relief, at the feeling of Patrick inside him. He never knew, before Patrick, that fucking could be . . . well, _comfortable_, as well as hot. They know how to move with each other, now.

Patrick’s murmuring a series of soft, encouraging phrases, all _you’re taking me so well_ and _you feel so good_ and _look at you opening up for me_. David closes his eyes tighter, emotion welling up inside him.

“I’m so fucking lucky to get to have you,” Patrick says, at last, and when David opens his eyes, tears spill out the corners.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says, meeting Patrick’s eyes. “It’s new. It’s all new.”

Patrick’s rhythm falters and he looks momentarily confused, a flash of _wait are we changing the scene_ on his face. David reaches up and strokes his cheek. 

“I love you. I’ve been in love with you.”

Understanding clears across Patrick’s features, and he bends down to kiss David’s lips, soft and gentle.

“I know, baby,” he says. 

It maybe breaks the scene, but David can’t stand to live for another moment in the time when he didn’t know Patrick loved him, when he didn’t know he loved Patrick, when they weren’t yet who they are now. Words pour out of him.

“I loved you so early, Patrick, so much, I couldn’t say it, couldn’t even recognize it but I loved you and I wanted you and it was, it was like nothing else―”

“Shhh,” Patrick says, fucking him slow, so slow, his slick hand wrapped around David’s cock, taking care of him. “Shhh, baby, I know. I know. I love you too. I loved you too.”

David arches up off the bed, against Patrick’s hips, into Patrick’s hand, Patrick’s body all over him, protecting him, keeping him safe. They slow down even further, gasping and scrabbling at each other’s skin, the fucking going on and on, wordless now, just bodies in love, pleasure drawing out for what feels like endless, endless minutes. When David comes it’s gentle and powerful, world-changing and easy, a slow and utterly familiar explosion traveling across every nerve ending in his body. He thinks he groans, loudly, and he thinks he hears Patrick’s cut-off desperate scream, and then he feels Patrick’s teeth in his shoulder and he knows Patrick is coming too.

It’s a long comedown, his mind spiraling down into his body again like a feather on a gentle updraft, back and forth, languorously, without David feeling any pressing need to speed up the process.

When he comes back to himself, he notices that Patrick ended up on his side next to David, mouth open against David’s bicep like Patrick didn’t really have conscious control of what his face was doing. David reaches over to pat his head.

“I’m glad we came here,” he says. “Thank you for meeting me at a shady motel for a clandestine rendezvous.”

“I drove you here,” Patrick says, but his lips are still pressed to David’s arm so it comes out muffled. “We’ve been dating for like, a year and a half.”

“Clandestine rendezvous,” David repeats. 

Patrick reaches over, palm cradling David’s jaw, and turns David’s head so they’re eye to eye.

“We learned a lot about each other here,” he says. “At our clandestine rendezvous. I’m glad we came here, too.”

David purses his lips together, bringing his hand up to hold Patrick’s hand against his face. “Love you,” he says.

“Love you.” 

Tomorrow is Sunday, their late opening day, so they can actually stay the night. They brush their teeth together, taking turns spitting into the sink, and try to take a shower together, but it turns out the water pressure in room one isn’t that much better than in room fourteen, so they give up on it being enjoyable and just try to get as clean as possible before sliding in between the sheets of the clean bed. 

David supposes they’ll end up doing this at Patrick’s apartment, too, from now on: getting ready for bed together, cuddling up under the blankets. They’ll have a space of their own to do this in. It won’t be temporary rooms anymore.

Lack of closet space aside, David can’t wait.

“Rock paper scissors for little spoon?” Patrick teases. David grins at him, remembering.

“No, you can be the little spoon if you want. I didn’t get a lot of opportunity to feel up your ass earlier.”

“So sweet,” Patrick says. “My man.”

“Yeah,” David says, wrapping an arm around Patrick’s waist and tugging him closer. “I am.”

_Will you marry me,_ David thinks, wildly, like he did their first night here. This time, he can almost imagine the words being real.

*

In the morning, Patrick wakes first, which isn’t a shocker. He watches David sleeping for a while, his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, his mouth open and drooling. Maybe they should’ve gotten a place together, he thinks; maybe he should’ve asked David to move in with him.

One step at a time, though, he reminds himself. He thinks about all the motel rooms here, all the little steps and big steps they took together, how good it had felt to savour each one in turn.

David’s awake after Patrick gets out of the shower, and they make out a bit in the steam, teasing and biting, even though it’s not going to go anywhere, maybe because they’re both a little sad to let their last night here be over. When they’re both clean and packed up and ready, they head into the office. Betty’s working the morning shift.

“Checking out,” Patrick says. Betty nods and grabs their paperwork, making a tick in the old-fashioned paper ledger, and takes his credit card from his hand.

“Benny told me you might not be coming around so much. You’re moving?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says.

“We’ll miss you,” she says, smiling. 

Patrick nods, taking his card back from her. “We’ll miss this place, too.”

On the way out the door, David holds his hand tight, and kisses his temple, like he knows how Patrick is feeling. Patrick leans into the touch.

The Sherwood retreats behind them in the rearview mirror.

“Tell you what I’m gonna miss,” David says. “The room with the red murder bathtub.”

Patrick laughs, shaken out of his melancholy. “Not as much as I’m gonna miss the potholes in the parking lot,” he says. “I think they damaged my car.”

They trade Sherwood stories for a while on the drive home, and by the time they’re passing the horrifying Schitt’s Creek town sign, Patrick feels settled, ready for what’s next.

“Drop me at the store, I can handle it today while you go and meet all the delivery people,” David says. 

“Thanks, hon.” He’s looking forward to it, all his stuff in his new space, putting things away, getting it neat and arranged. Making it his, with room for David.

David kisses him softly before he gets out of the car. “Can I come over tonight?” he asks.

“Any night you want,” Patrick says.

**Epilogue**

David’s sitting up against the headboard in his bed at the Rosebud, leather portfolio open over his thighs, sorting through potential floral arrangements for the wedding; Patrick’s sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, laptop open in front of him, sourcing and pricing tents. Since they got engaged, Patrick’s spent more and more time here, not just quick stops to pick David up for a date like he used to, but hanging out to watch TV or have breakfast with David and Alexis. David watches him typing away on his keyboard, one sock foot tapping along to whatever song is running through his head, engrossed in whatever he’s looking at on the screen. Comfortable.

It strikes David that they’re going to build a home together. Not just yet, because Patrick wants to save a little more for a mortgage, and because David wants to wait for the old couple in that gorgeous two-story Queen Anne in Elm Glen to die or move out so they can buy their house, but sometime soon. They’re going to find a home, bigger than Patrick’s apartment, or a motel room, or the spare room at Ray’s, something big enough for them to grow into together, where their lives can breathe together. What they have is only going to expand to take up more and more space.

“What,” Patrick says, and David refocuses his eyes and notices that Patrick is looking at him, tiny smile on his face. David shakes his head, and Patrick adds, “You were staring.”

“I was thinking about how heavy you are, and how you’re on my feet,” David says, wiggling his feet where they’re trapped under Patrick’s massive thigh to demonstrate. 

Patrick just laughs and sort of bends sideways, far enough to glance a kiss off of David’s clothed knee. He makes no attempt to move his thigh. 

“And?” he asks.

David sighs and relents.

“And I was thinking about how nice it will be, when we have a place of our own. And you can cut off circulation to my feet anytime we like.”

“Imagine if we had enough rooms and enough furniture that we didn’t both have to sit on one narrow bed,” Patrick offers, turning back to his screen and typing something into a spreadsheet. David recognizes their wedding budget.

David wiggles his feet again, hard enough to make Patrick rock back and forth a little. “Where’s the fun in that?” 

Patrick doesn’t turn back to look at him, but his smile lights up his face. David feels an answering light spread through his chest. He cannot _wait_ to get married.

They work for a while longer, the motel quiet for a change, until Patrick saves his work and stands to stretch, pulling David by the hand until he gets up too.

“Let’s go get lunch, we deserve a break,” he says. David rolls his eyes as he ties his shoes, tugging the laces tight and then double-knotting at the centre. 

“Oh, your kindness knows no bounds,” he says. “We get to eat lunch, Mr Scrooge?”

“Yes, to give you a respite from the backbreaking labour of deciding that lilac is overplayed in wedding floral design,” Patrick drawls. “Come on.”

David grumbles for the sake of it, but he’s ready to go, just standing up next to Patrick, when the door opens suddenly and his dad walks in, accompanied by Roland.

“Oh, boys, I’m so glad we caught you here,” his dad says. Patrick turns towards them curiously, but David knows that those words rarely lead to anything good. They’re usually the precursor to other words like _Son, I need you to do me a favour_ or _David, I’m expecting you to be there for your mother_. David narrows his eyes and draws his head back; next to him, his fiancé smiles openly.

David clears his throat. “Um, we were just on our way out to get lunch, so―”

“Your dad and I have some amazing news, Dave, you’re gonna wanna hear this,” Roland grins. 

“Okay,” David says, shaking his head.

His dad and Roland keep trading weird smiles, looking abashed and proud all at once; it’s weird. In fact, his dad is beaming so hard, and looking over at Roland so much, that David’s momentarily afraid they’re going to announce their engagement.

“We bought the motel together!” his dad blurts out, eventually, and David presses a shocked hand to his chest and takes a step back, mouth dropping open, before the correction comes: “I mean, uh, the Sherwood Motel, in Elm Glen, not this motel, obviously, Stevie still owns this one. But we own the Sherwood! We’re branching out!”

David feels his stomach drop.

“The Sherwood,” Patrick says slowly, the realization clearly hitting him at the same time. “That’s―that’s wonderful, Mr Rose.” Patrick’s voice sounds forced, and when David glances over at him, his eyes are way too wide and his previously soft smile has frozen solid. David grimaces automatically, then forces himself to drop the grimace in favour of a frozen smile of his own.

“Yes, um, congratulations,” David adds, nodding. His dad doesn’t pick up on anything wrong, bless him, because he couldn’t notice a social cue if it was slapping him in the face and calling him Geoffrey, but David grabs Patrick’s hand anyway, squeezing for strength.

“Well, we definitely wish you the best, the best―” Patrick stutters, seeming to get lost in the sentence. David hasn’t seen him blush like that in a while.

“The _best_ of luck,” David finishes brightly. Patrick’s hand tightens in his, and then Patrick is tugging him not-so-subtly towards the door.

“See you later, Mr Rose. Roland,” Patrick nods. 

Everyone murmurs pleasantries and then they’re outside, the door closed behind them, Patrick’s fingers still interlaced tightly with David’s.

For a long moment, they don’t speak, and don’t walk anywhere, and don’t look at each other, just standing there holding hands in the afternoon sunshine, motionless, frozen.

Eventually, David clears his throat. “Um, so, is it a little weird that―”

“It’s a little weird that your dad bought our sex motel!” Patrick says, with vehemence, which makes David laugh and try to shush him.

“He didn’t know!” David says, in a harsh whisper, pulling Patrick by the hand away from the door.

“And here I thought we’d never have to think about the Sherwood again,” Patrick is saying, “and you know your dad is gonna want to talk to me about it _all the time_.” He’s still oblivious to his volume, which is so unlike him that it makes a wave of laughter pass through David again. He tries to suppress it.

“Shhh,” he says, walking faster. “Do you think we should tell him about the water pressure issues?”

Patrick lets out a loud laugh and follows along, walking forward as David walks backwards and tugs him towards the car.

“We could at least recommend that he get some new towels. And change the murder room. And think about some soundproofing.” He grins. “Remember our first night there?”

David does; Patrick _screamed_. He presses his lips over a smile.

“Indeed I do. Which reminds me: he should also be paying the cleaning staff a _lot_ more.” As he says it, Patrick picks up his pace, walking just a little faster forwards than David is backwards, stepping into his space, his hands on David’s sides while David’s hands wrap around his shoulders, an old dance that they both know well. Then they’re kissing, softly, like they have so many times before, warm and heartfelt and born of long practice. A lot of that practice, of course, in the motel that used to be the only one nearby where David’s family didn’t live or work.

When they pull apart, Patrick’s eyes are dancing. “Almost feels like we should go back to the Sherwood. One last hurrah.”

“Didn’t we do that when you got your apartment? Right before you moved in?”

“I don’t know, it’s a little fuzzy. Maybe we should make sure.”

“I believe I’ve told you before that, absent _sex emergencies_, there’s very little chance of me having sex with you in a room that is cleaned by Roland, or Stevie, or my dad. Cleaned and potentially . . . barged-in-upon-by. I have traumatic Jake-related memories.”

“You may have mentioned that once or twice,” Patrick allows. He squeezes his arms around David’s waist. “We could go back to my apartment and pretend we’re at the Sherwood.”

“You want to roleplay the time we roleplayed being at a mediocre motel together? I think I’d get too confused to get it up. I had quite enough of that when Joseph Gordon-Levitt tried to jerk me off while we watched _Inception_.”

Patrick snorts. “Or we could go back to my apartment and pretend I’m a maid at the motel, and oh no I walked in on you just as you got out of the shower . . .”

“You’re not being sexy right now,” David says, even though the idea of Patrick in a maid outfit, perhaps wearing the lace panties David got him to match his own, is, in fact, very sexy. And very tempting.

“Or what if you’re the bored horny front desk clerk, we can borrow some flannel from Stevie―” Patrick stops, laughing, as David pushes him away by the shoulder so that he spins around. David takes his hand again and they walk side by side towards the car.

“How about, we go back to your apartment and pretend like we’re fiancés with a glorious future and a thriving sex life,” David suggests.

“Thriving. I like the sound of that.”

David does, too. It’s strange to think of the Sherwood as belonging to his dad and Roland; it felt, for so long, like a place that belonged to them, their little secret. But all the experiences they had there made them who they are now, made it possible for them to outgrow it.

“And next time you want to sneak away for a clandestine rendezvous,” David adds, “I hear there’s a new luxury spa and hotel in Thornbridge.”

“Guess we are ready for an upgrade,” Patrick agrees, and drives them to his apartment, to what will be, after they get married, their first real home; David thinks, the first of many.


End file.
